


Like a shipwreck we die going into ourselves

by hannahhoppers



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: 3x01, Angst, Ficlet, Gen, I don't know what I was thinking when i wrote this but here you go, The Jolly Roger, accepting mortality, she almost dies but she lives, weird ficlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 07:33:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7425823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahhoppers/pseuds/hannahhoppers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma Swan jumps off the side of that boat fully knowing that she might not come up, and she's alright with that, even if it isn't necessarily what she wanted. But she holds a bit of hope.</p><p>Rated T just because there are a few mature, philosophical ideas floating around in here and I don't want to permanently screw with the heads of any kids on here with my night writing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a shipwreck we die going into ourselves

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, my thoughts on Emma when she jumped off the side of the Jolly Roger in 3x01.
> 
> Title from "Nothing but Death" by Pablo Neruda, which is a really interesting poem that you all need to go check out because it will likely make you see the world in a different way. Here's a link: https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/nothing-death 
> 
>  
> 
> I don't own the show or the characters, so I'm playing with them. Adam and Eddy have such nice toys. Unbeta'd. Kudos and comments if you enjoy!

The seawater was cold and white as it splashed up over the side of the ship, the spatter chilling her and her companions. The storm was raging around them, lightning flaring, clouds obscuring the moon, thrashing waves threatening to drown them all. 

 

“I thought you said you could outrun the storm!”

 

“This isn’t a storm! It’s bloody damnation!” They tugged together at the wheel, trying to steer thevessel into calmer waters, to no avail. 

 

The two dark haired queens were screaming at each other, and as their sharp insults came to blows, David, ever the prince charming, tried to save his damsel in distress. The pirate captain, in distress and fear, shouted at the man and another brawl ensued. Emma was left to yank at the smooth wooden spokes, her hands slipping due to the sweat on her palms and the salty mist covering the thing. She cried out, but they didn’t listen, too involved in their petty quarrels to pay attention to the savior. As the sails snapped more violently and the wind screamed louder in her ears, the realization of what was happening yanked shouts out of her throat, but they were for nought. 

 

With a final, desperate scream to her parents, to the queen, to the pirate, she pulled herself onto the scratched wooden edge on the side of the boat. The ropes were the only thing holding her above the dark, tumbling water. She cast one more glance around the deck and let go. Her parents’ yells didn’t reach her ears in time as she dove into the fray. 

 

Emma Swan knew that life was flimsy. She understood fully that she might not come up out of this icy pit. She called out goodbyes in her head, to her parents and to her son (who might be lost to her forever, already). She said goodbye to always-smiling Ruby, and to sweet and fair-haired Ashley, to Granny and her diner’s cozy atmosphere, and to good-natured Archie. She said goodbye to Storybrooke and the clocks scattered around the loft, goodbye to the bright sunflowers in the florist’s shop down the street. Goodbye to grilled cheese sandwiches and hot cocoa with cinnamon. Goodbye to her red leather jacket and candlelit bubble baths in her mother’s claw-footed tub. Goodbye to her head hitting the pillow at night, and early-morning sunlight streaming in through the sheer curtains in the upstairs bedroom. She said goodbye to the blue planet she hadn’t seen much of yet, just in case she didn’t live long enough to say it again. 

 

Her blonde hair tangled and floated around her, and her emerald eyes slid shut as cold water came in through her nose. Her mind wandered away from where she was now, thinking the most pleasant things her subconscious could muster until the burn of her lungs distracted her. She felt her life slipping away from her, the air that should be filling her up replaced with water. There was a sense of regret, a little worm wiggling its way through her brain, that she couldn’t help but acknowledge in these, what must be her final seconds. Regret for doing this to her family. Her parents, who had only just found her, and her son. God, what would they tell Henry? _Sorry, your mom jumped off the side of the boat and died when we were coming to find you._ Her last thought before she could think no more was of her boy, a sad look painting his features and a few tears stuck to his eyelashes. 

 

Life was easy to take away. It was easy to give away. It was easy to lose. She couldn’t remember when she learned this, or why. She must have been around 15 when she started reminding herself every day that she didn’t have long on this earth, that she had to do the best she could to enjoy it. (She’d later learn that these facts had made their way into her philosophy on a bus stop bench in Richfield, Minnesota, right after a certain blonde ice queen shoved her into moving traffic.) She was glad she’d lived as well as she could. She’d taken her lessons from her mistakes, and gathered up nuggets of wisdom that others had left behind as if they were made of gold. When she did love, she loved deeply, and she felt gratitude for each good thing that had happened to her. She learned to forgive and forget- well, that was a bit of a lie. She rarely forgave, but she did her best to forget. Forget the Swans, and the foster homes, and Neal, and the child she had had to let go of. For years, it had been as much a safety mechanism as it was her trying to enjoy her life while she had it. And if she always ended up sobbing on a bathroom floor after more than a few glasses of wine, bemoaning her miserable past and the orphan eyes she still wore? Well, there was a reason she rarely drank with a companion. 

 

She felt that she’d died for a worthy cause. If she could save her parents, Regina, and the pirate she felt she could get to know, if she could help them save Henry, then it was worth it. Every stinging intake of water, the pain she felt overtaking her limbs, they were worth it. Five full, vibrant lives for hers, which had been grey and empty until recently. It seemed an easy enough trade. 

 

In the monotony of her watery tomb _Why wasn’t she dead already?_ there was a pulling sensation. Something was dragging her up and away. She felt something change, the chill filling her bones now a bit weaker, the burn in her lungs slightly lessened. She could not hear much, but as she pulled in a breath, she began to hear muffled voices calling to her, nearly begging her. Next thing she knew, she was convulsing, body-wracking coughs forcing the water out of her. She was sputtering and taking in sharp, painful breaths, but she hadn’t died. She was not saddened, no, but didn’t feel the overwhelming pulse of life around her. That had already happened. But she was glad that she had stolen a bit more time, a few more minutes or days or maybe even decades, if she was lucky. Some more time to hug her son, and get to know her parents, and find love with the right person, one who wasn’t going to leave her arrested and pregnant. Perhaps it could even be with the man dressed in leather, standing a few respectful feet away from her, his eyes filled with relief. 

 

She was alive. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you didn't catch it, I kind of rewrote Emily's monologue from the end of "Our Town" by Thorton Wilder. From a more Emma perspective. The original is as follows: 
> 
> I can't. I can't go on. It goes so fast. We don't have time to look at one another. I didn't realize. All that was going on in life and we never noticed. Take me back - up the hill - to my grave. But first: Wait! One more look. Good-by, Good-by, world. Good-by, Grover's Corners, Mama and Papa. Good-bye to clocks ticking and Mama's sunflowers. And food and coffee. And new-ironed dresses and hot baths, and sleeping and waking up. Oh, earth, you're too wonderful for anybody to realize you. Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it? - every, every minute?
> 
> Got exposed to some quality literature, tonight. ;) Hope you all enjoyed the read, now go get some sleep. :o ===<3  
> (That was me trying to make a "blowing a kiss" emoji)


End file.
